Chapter 5

Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks.

—Samuel Johnson

 

March 1863

Colonel Benton accepted the report from his scout with a nod, glanced at the massing dark clouds overhead, and turned in his saddle toward Connelly. “Send Blake and Martin ahead to announce to the widow at Waverly we will be stopping for shelter and food.” He turned back and had already urged his horse forward when his officer questioned the order.

“Waverly, sir?”

“You heard me, Major.” Benton drew back on his reins and looked over at Connelly. “It is the closest dwelling, and I’m not going to get a soaking in this storm just to avoid the hostility of a noncombatant.” Urging his horse forward again as if the matter were inconsequential, he spoke over his shoulder. “We have avoided the widow at the expense of others in the neighborhood long enough. If Mrs. Duvall is able to provide food and forage for her Federal friends, she can certainly offer equal rations to us.”

As Connelly saluted and spurred his horse forward to carry out the order, Benton tried to convince himself that sending the two privates ahead had been military protocol, not a way to alleviate his discomfort at being the one to inform Sarah Duvall he was coming to dinner after the unfortunate circumstances that had last brought them together.

As they rode out of the tree line, Benton glanced at the sky. A low vanguard of clouds crouched in the distance, and mutterings and grumblings on the horizon accompanied the lightning flickering like battle flares in the distance. Leaves trembled and twisted on the trees, waving their early spring finery as if making a show of defiant splendor before disaster.

When the house came into view, Benton’s heart began beating at a more frantic pace than it had when facing the enemy some hours earlier. Although she had behaved respectfully when last they had met, he had no doubt she would greet him now with hostility at his unexpected visit. She was beyond a doubt the most aloof, unapproachable female he had ever met, and he had no illusions about a congenial greeting upon his arrival. In fact, the weather seemed somehow emblematic of the turbulence yet to come. Benton put his head down against the rising wind and spattering of rain and prepared for battle as he neared his destination.

He was surprised when one of the men he had sent ahead met him at the gate. “Mrs. Duvall says she can only take five officers in the house. The rest will have to go to the barn to eat and wait out the storm.”

Benton nodded and breathed a sigh of relief that at least she wasn’t going to greet him with the shotgun.

“And, Colonel Benton, she won’t put down that blasted gun.”

Benton frowned and dismounted, handing over his reins. “Very well. Go get comfortable in the barn for now.”

As Benton made his way to the house, he saw no sign of the widow or any indication that his troops or horses were going to be fed. With his head bent down against what was now an onslaught of rain, he bounded up the steps of the house, almost running into its owner, who appeared out of nowhere and seemed not to notice the wind tearing at her skirts or the rain soaking her face as she scrutinized his men riding toward the barn. He watched her eyes find the face she was seeking and the look of reassurance that followed when she saw her brother was alive and well. By the time her eyes met his, the satisfied look was gone, replaced by a glint of petulance. She nodded in his direction, providing the only indication that she knew he was there.

Being a gentleman, Benton removed his hat and bowed low. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your charm, Mrs. Duvall,” he said, trying to sound sincere.

“And I’m sorry to see you haven’t found any, Major Benton,” she said frostily, turning toward the door with the shotgun clearly visible in her hand. “I am not prepared for guests.”

“I am not here for a social call,” he said bluntly, as one of his staff came bounding up the steps.

“The horses are being fed and the men are getting comfortable, Colonel.”

Benton watched the woman in front of him stop abruptly, look back over her shoulder at the new insignia on his collar, and then continue into the house. The expression on her face when she had met his gaze for a brief moment was unreadable.

“Very well,” Benton said, removing his gum blanket and shaking it out on the porch. There was no abatement now in flashes of lightning and the low, steady growl of thunder above the wind. “But don’t let them get too comfortable. I have a feeling we will be wearing out our welcome here rather soon.”

When Benton entered the large, inviting foyer, he found it not the least bit extravagant, yet it reflected striking elegance and sophistication. The woman holding a gun in the middle of the room as the other officers entered did much to spoil the image of enchantment that first greeted his eyes, however. It appeared that the storm he thought he had avoided by stopping here had not been evaded after all.

“You do not look pleased to see us, Mrs. Duvall.” Benton spoke with the calm authority of a man in charge, not revealing in the least his pounding heart.

“I’ll admit I’ve been more agreeably surprised,” she responded in an annoyed tone. “I cannot pretend a toleration I do not feel.”

“I regret that we are compelled to impress food.” Benton took a step toward her but watched her warily as if she were a stray animal he feared would bite. “But I trust you will not make the necessity needlessly unpleasant.” He moved his gaze from her face to the gun, and then held out his hand for the weapon. Even without words, the action made clear it was not a request but a command, and it was as arrogantly given as if he were a king and she his subject.

She stubbornly held onto the instrument of carnage. “I thought I had made my loyalties clear.”

All of the heads in the room turned now toward Benton awaiting his reply.

“That you did, Mrs. Duvall. But by shunning Waverly, I have allowed you to force your neighbors to bear the brunt of providing sustenance to my men and their mounts.”

To this, the widow continued to stand her ground with shoulders square, blue eyes unblinking. At long last she took a deep breath of exasperation and shrugged her shoulders. “I can only offer such hospitality as my home affords.” She paused and looked up at him steadily. “I hope you do not intend to confuse my kindness for cordiality.”

“You can be sure there is no confusion,” Benton said, taking the gun gingerly from her hand. “We are gentlemen and will behave as such. But when circumstances require, as they have today, we will not pass Waverly by for the sake of avoiding a confrontation with you.” Benton stood calmly before her though the sound of his own heartbeat rang in his ears. He found himself wanting this woman’s respect more than her tolerance, but he knew he would have to be grateful for whatever he could get.

After staring at him a moment, she shifted her gaze to the faces of the three other officers who stood awkwardly silent with muddied boots and solemn expressions in her home.

“Mrs. Duvall, I have the pleasure of introducing Major Connelly, Captain Anderson, and Lieutenant Stevens.” The three men removed their hats and nodded, while Benton looked around and over his shoulder. “Where is Lieutenant Callahan?”

“Jake said he’d prefer to stay in the barn,” Connelly said. “I told him that was understandable, considering…you know…the circumstances.”

Benton marked the rise and fall of Sarah’s bosom and the look of torment as she stared straight ahead while they spoke of her brother. Not a limb moved, nor did her eyes waver for a few long moments as she battled her emotions while absorbing the news. Then, with a swoosh of her skirt, she turned toward the kitchen and disappeared.

“Maybe I should see if I can help,” Connelly said, seeming to have noticed their hostess’ distress.

The others laughed. “Don’t go trying to be a hero,” Captain Anderson said. “You’d have better fortune trying to hug a beehive.”

Benton looked at his second in command and gave him a silent nod of approval.

 

* * *

Sarah was bending over the hearth, blinking back tears when she heard the kitchen door open and close. Looking over her shoulder, she nodded to the tall, dark-haired officer standing in the doorway nervously fingering his hat.

“I came to see if I could be of service, ma’am…considering you’re alone.”

Sarah forced a smile and continued stirring the pot. “Thank you, Major. I just made bread this morning and have this stew heating. If you’d be so kind, you could bring in the butter from the porch.”

Connelly nodded and proceeded to carry out her wish as Sarah hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks. For the first time in her life, she realized that pretending to enjoy the company of her enemies was a simple task compared to this one—pretending to detest the soldiers fighting for the land she loved. Her hands began to tremble at the thought of getting through the next few hours, and for a moment, she considered putting an end to the charade. That Benton had brought his men to eat here—simply to avoid a soaking in the storm—did nothing to make the visit any easier or more agreeable.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Duvall?” Connelly re-appeared and took the tray of bread from her shaking hands. “You look rather pale. Perhaps you should sit down.”

Sarah shook her head and forced a smile, but did not trust her voice to speak. She quickly picked up a large wooden spoon and turned back toward the pot warming over the fire.

“It’s Jake, isn’t it?” Connelly put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it in a tender, brotherly way. When she turned and looked up into his brown eyes, she got the impression that, despite the grave look he now wore, he was a man who could laugh exuberantly and hard when warranted.

“I am not the first to be separated from loved ones by the cruel hand of war.” Sarah stared at the floor as she spoke, her emotions so tightly suppressed that her words came out as a whisper.

“It is a cruel war indeed, Mrs. Duvall, that rips apart even the most sacred ties.”

A sudden surge of wind rattled the windows and the clap of thunder that followed brought the conversation to a close. “Sounds like we found dry quarters just in time.”

Sarah nodded as she stirred the contents in the large pot once again. “There should be plenty for everyone.” She turned back to him, swiping the back of her forearm across her head to push back a lock of hair that had gone astray. “If you’d like to call the other officers, I believe it is ready.”

Sarah hastily sat out dishes and silverware in the dining room, trying to ignore the masculine figures that surrounded her table. She had often served just as many Union officers on any one evening and not felt half the discomfort. Men of distinction, both from the army and from civilian life, were her daily guests. Yet never had she felt so overwhelmed than with these four men with their powerful frames and well-meaning smiles. Although they looked like perfect gentlemen at the moment, Sarah knew these soldiers were the cream of the Confederate army, fearless, daring and bold. No other command could achieve the victories these men had over the past ten months. They were as fine a specimen of Southern manhood as could be found, and she was proud her brother was considered worthy to serve with them.

Colonel Benton took the chair at the head of the table, his long legs and broad shoulders seeming to make the room shrink. Considerably over six feet, he towered above most of the other men and emanated an air of authority that even without his size or status would have been immediately evident. Trying to ignore him, yet failing miserably, Sarah decided it wasn’t so much his immense, muscular body but rather the vast power and strength that radiated from him. Although she knew he had been in the saddle for days there was no drooping of his formidable frame, no sign of fatigue.

His reputation was that of a man who commanded attention. Sarah had noticed from the beginning how he looked at her—as if he could possess her if he wanted to. But acquainted as she was with the stories of his persuasive powers with women, she could see now that his intrepid, bold deportment made him a favorite among his men as well.

At first she had despised him for his arrogance and kinglike demeanor, but now she could not help admiring his gallant defense of her homeland. His war record, after all, revealed far more about his character than did idle gossip or a few months’ acquaintance could impart. Despite his faults, none could say he was not entirely devoted to his country. In his own careless way, he was captivating and intriguing.

As if to make her job more difficult, Benton seemed to be making an attempt at good behavior—although Sarah reminded herself that one can look respectful in church and still be breaking all the commandments. Try as she might to dislike him, something in that dark hair, that kingly bearing, and that intrepid demeanor attracted and bound her to his service. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as she prepared for the hardest battle of her life—keeping up the pretense of detesting the very soldiers she most respected and esteemed.

 

* * *

Colonel Benton ate ravenously, all the while watching how his hostess fought the womanly instinct to wait on his men attentively. Instead, she treated them with civil disregard, as if providing them with nourishment was a chore rather than an honored service. Yet it was obvious she had not spared her pantry, filling the table with oysters and cold ham, fresh stew, and bread slathered with the diner’s choice of butter, honey, or jam. Her dignity and grace were unequaled as she moved among them, her manners perfect in their composure, and her face most beautiful, despite the absence of a smile. No, never a smile. Her habitual expression seemed to be a thoughtful almost mournful look—that of someone with little hope and no pleasure.

As she came near him, Benton lifted his eyes to gaze at her proud, cheerless face. Her melancholy eyes haunted him as he thought back to the great deeds she had accomplished on his behalf. He had never before seen someone so full of decency and dignity and could not comprehend the doctrine of sacrifice and devotion she exhibited. He felt a faint stir of compassion, but immediately thrust it away. She did not seek his approval—let alone his friendship. He may as well accept it and keep it that way.

“I can see why the Yanks pay such frequent visits to you, Mrs. Duvall,” he said sitting back in his chair and patting his full stomach. “Your expertise in the kitchen is unparalleled.”

“And I can see why General Lee gave you a command to make yourself a source of great annoyance to the enemy,” she replied as she removed his plate.

A chorus of chuckles arose from his men, but Benton was so surprised at the response to his innocent statement that for a moment, he did not know whether he should offer her an apology or demand one. Then he remembered her duty—and his. A ghost of a smile wavered on his stern face before it quickly disappeared.

“I’m sorry if my table manners have provoked you,” he said, somewhat sincerely. “I cannot pretend an eloquence I do not possess. I’m afraid my humble knowledge is limited to the setting of cavalry on a field of battle.”

“Yes, it appears your record is not silent on the subject,” she said more gently now. Despite her distance and apparent displeasure, her words proved that she was not as unmoved as she wished to appear.

Men began pushing themselves away from the table and patting their mid-sections as Benton debated his next move. His stomach was certainly satisfied, but his conscience still was not. He needed to talk to Mrs. Duvall. Alone.

He turned and gazed out the window. “It appears the storm has let up.” He stood and bowed to Sarah. “Thank you for your gracious hospitality, Mrs. Duvall.”

She nodded, which he knew was a great deal for her to do, and then turned her back to him as she began to clear the table.

As the men retreated from the room, Benton lagged behind. “I’m going to have a word with Mrs. Duvall,” he said in a whispered voice to Connelly, who glanced back at the woman noisily crashing dishes together, and nodded.

Benton fingered his hat nervously. Now that the time had come to express his real reason for stopping at Waverly, he could barely find the words to speak. He became uncharacteristically short of breath as he stared at the back of the woman who was mechanically stacking dirty dishes. It did not escape his thoughts that this was the first time they had been together since her interrogation some months ago, and he felt uneasy about being in the presence of someone so inherently courageous and decent. She had accepted hardships that were certainly more painful than were wounds or physical suffering while receiving no glory or even acknowledgment for the sacrifice. He cleared his throat, yet still his voice cracked when he spoke. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Duvall.”

Sarah turned her head around slowly, as if just realizing she was not alone. Her gaze was bright and questioning, yet otherwise unreadable. “Would you like something more to eat?” She tilted her head questioningly and her eyes seemed strangely kind.

“No, ma’am.” Benton cleared his throat. “I just wished to say that you have done me a great service, impossible to measure or reward.”

He watched her scan the space behind him, as if to be certain they were alone, and then her unflinching gaze bore into his. “But I do not serve you, Colonel Benton. I serve my country.”

Benton realized his inability to say what he intended, so hesitated a moment to gather his thoughts. Sarah must have noticed the look. “You were treated the same as all who walk through my door, be they loyal friends or worthy foes.”

Benton took a step closer, even though he had not been talking about the meal today. “And which am I?”

For the first time Sarah looked at him as if she were flustered and appeared unsure how to respond. “But what I meant is—I do what I do because we are at war.”

“We are not at war.” No matter what the situation, she neither gave nor demanded, nor evidently desired, any sign of emotion. She was the most regal—and unpredictable— creature he had ever laid eyes on.

Sarah gazed thoughtfully over his shoulder. “Yes, of course not,” she said at last, “but there is much you do not know about me.”

“When will I?”

With lightning speed, her gaze darted up to his and now her expression revealed immense surprise and not a little suspicion—as if she supposed he had used the line on any number of other women. Yet Colonel Benton could not bring to mind a single woman that had not told him more than he wished to know within the first few minutes of their acquaintance. This one, however, remained a mystery after almost a year.

“Your charms would perhaps be better received in other quarters.”

Benton waited for her to say more, but she seemed to think the conversation was over and turned back to the table. Benton’s jaw tightened at her response. “I am not here to charm you, Mrs. Duvall—or cross swords with you.” He could not understand how he so constantly and inadvertently found himself on her bad side. Her barrier of impenetrable reserve apparently did not yield to any expression of friendliness. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a well-worn envelope. “To be honest, General Lee wished me to deliver this personally, and the weather cooperated in allowing me to deliver it today without raising suspicion.”

Sarah turned around slowly and gazed at his extended hand. “From General Lee?” she whispered.

“Yes. For you.”

Biting her lip, she took the communication, and with shaking hands opened it and began to read. To Benton’s horror, tears began to flow down her cheeks.

“You should not have given me such credit,” she said, looking up at him as if embarrassed at the attention. “It was not my intention to gain laurels from the expedition.”

Despite her shiny blue eyes, her pouty lips, and her wet cheeks, Benton kept his composure and remained businesslike, knowing she would wish it so. “Mrs. Duvall, it was a brave act that deserved the general’s attention. I only commended you in my report as I would the notable acts of any of my other officers. I assumed you would value equal treatment.”

All of the animosity drained from her eyes and her cheeks blushed to a rosy hue. “You are very kind, Colonel,” she finally said, staring at the floor. “But it was not necessary. The offering of the horse was reward enough.”

“Yes, as for the horse, I will not dispute your choice,” Benton said, glancing out the window at his men mounting. “But know that another, perhaps more suitable, is available at any time.”

“Oh, no, I’m quite pleased with him…”

“Very well.” Benton put on his hat and nodded in her direction. “I’ve said what I came to say. I will not burden you any longer. Good day, Mrs. Duvall.”

He turned toward the door, but instantly felt a sudden pressure upon his arm. Benton was so surprised by the action that he stared down at the small hand that rested there.

“Despite your generosity and impeccable charm, Colonel Benton, you do understand you will be treated in the same unkind manner when next we meet?”

Benton moved his gaze from her hand clasping his arm to the upturned face right before him, and a boyish smile began to spread at the sight of her blue eyes glittering with frank honesty.

“For my country, I will dare your displeasure, Mrs. Duvall,” he said somewhat huskily as he tipped his hat, “which I trust will only be temporary and which I hope will only be for the sake of the cause.”

The faint smile she rewarded him with rendered her face one of uncommon beauty, and the tone she had used made him feel more like a friend than a foe. He gazed once more into her eyes—the depths of which were both mystifying and perplexing. If he had thought her attractive before in her somberness and gloom, he now beheld her in a new vision.

“It’s a pity you must leave so soon,” she said, glancing out the window. “I hope you got enough to eat.”

Benton reached for the door handle, more for support than for any desire to leave. Never before had she acknowledged she appreciated his presence, let alone revealed that she disliked his leaving. Heaven knows he ought to have departed long since, but he had no way of knowing when he would see her again. Surely he might indulge himself a little longer.

“I fear it will be a test for me to keep my men from imposing on you at mealtimes in the future, Mrs. Duvall.” He smiled and winked, but then spoke in a low, serious tone. “As you must know, our visit today was imperative. I can’t help but think the Yankees find it suspicious that we spare your pantry at the expense of your neighbors.”

“Yes, I can’t help but agree.” Sarah stared intently out the window. “We must make sure it does not appear—to the enemy or to your men—that you are intentionally avoiding Waverly. You must treat me as you would any other civilian in the region.”

Benton followed her gaze, and saw a young lieutenant already mounted and waiting at the edge of the yard as if anxious to leave.

Sarah’s eyes were locked on the image. “Colonel Benton, you have been entrusted with the care of my brother.” Her words were whispered and serious. “You will keep a close eye on him for me?”

Benton studied the worried expression and eyes that reflected more clearly than words the depth of her concern. “I take the responsibility of the lives of my men seriously.” He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I cannot guarantee Jake’s safety, but I can assure you I will do all in my power not to place him unnecessarily in harm’s way.”

Sarah swallowed hard and nodded as she continued to soak in the sight of her brother. “Thank you, Colonel Benton.”

After a moment of awkward silence, Benton tipped his hat one last time. “Good day, Mrs. Duvall.”

Once outside, he paused a moment on the step contemplating her words and actions. He had never felt respect, let alone affection from her, yet something had just happened that left him feeling lightheaded and strangely out of breath. An inexplicable sensation of elation washed over him, mixed with a feeling of pure bewilderment at the turn of events.

Benton tried to remember another instance when a mere conversation had caused such a reaction as he strode toward his horse. Recalling none, he suppressed the urge to smile, and motioned to Connelly to give the order to mount. Within minutes, despite their full stomachs and weary bodies, his men had swung readily into their saddles and were trotting off through the rain-soaked fields to their next engagement.